


Living the Dream

by Nadler



Category: Goon (2011)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Canon, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 01:39:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7665337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nadler/pseuds/Nadler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This here is Stevsie. Anything you need, you tell me, he'll do it." - Gord Ogilvey</p>
            </blockquote>





	Living the Dream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [track_04](https://archiveofourown.org/users/track_04/gifts).



> I loved your prompts, and then I realized I had all these feelings about Stevsie.

John grows up watching Ogilvey score with the best of them. He's not quite the fastest or the strongest, but there's this energy when he's on the ice. John pays attention when he’s skating, stripping the puck away from the other team, trying to make the best of his breakaway.

He has posters in his room at fourteen, a couple of jerseys join it on his wall when he outgrows them, followed by a banner or three, and a signed stick.

John is seventeen when Ogilvey plays his last NHL game.

  

When John gets drafted, it's a dream come true--he's not the flashy or showy high rounder, he got picked in the sixth, but it's amazing.

They ask him who he models his game after, and he can't say anything but "Ogilvey.” Anything else gets stuck in his throat. John smiles into the flash of the camera.

The reporter chuckles, “He was great in his prime."

“I can be just as good,” John says, hoping. “And he’s still a great player.”

 

That November, Gord Ogilvey gets sent down after five weeks in the press box.

 

John goes to college for a couple of years, and he keeps on playing. They sign him to an ELC when he's twenty-one, tell him to report to their minor team, and John is officially a pro hockey player. With the Halifax Highlanders.

He's living the dream.

The visitor locker room is less glamorous than John expected, but then again, this wasn't the show. He suits up in nervous silence, among other training camp hopefuls. They get practice jerseys for scrimmage.

Gord Ogilvey ("Just Gord, kid, don't make passing drills harder than they have to be") is his captain, and John doesn't pass out. Which is very good, considering he's face to face with his hockey idol.

Ogilvey looks him over, and John swallows a lump in his throat. John’s a little winded, and he’s grateful that everyone’s red-faced.

"It's an honor," John says. He tries to salute, but mostly, his stick goes flying across the ice. His teammates applaud.

Ogilvey sighs.

Coach blows his whistle and yells at them to start hustling. “Stop fucking lollygagging.”

“Damn right, move it, boys!”

“Yeah, move it,” John echoes, and he skates right behind his captain.

 

When camp’s over, and most of the other prospects go back to Europe or to juniors or to college, John’s still there. (Iron gives him a fistbump—they’re both rookies to the team.) The scouts wrote about John’s soft hands, and he doesn’t think his stickhandling is anything shabby, but it’s not where he wants it to be. But he’s playing pro hockey, and he’s ecstatic.

“Hey, Stevsie,” Ogilvey says, “Get me something to fucking drink, will you?”

“Okay.” And John does because he likes being helpful—and the little nod he gets when he hands over a thermos is reward enough.

“You’re an alright kid.” His captain shrugs, wipes sweat off his brow. Takes a drink, droplets of water suspended in his dark stubble.

“Thank you.” John resists fist-pumping. Gord Ogilvey thinks he’s a good person. It’s enough.

Sometimes Gord asks John for something weird, but he plays hockey. He can take it. It’s better than Belchior and his Percocets. Even if he’s really not sure that Gord’s kid would like a sweater and packs some candy in the bag to make up for it.

 

Sometimes, Gord walks in more than half-drunk and miserable. He doesn’t let it show on the ice. He scores a goal, even when he gets knocked against the boards. It’s admirable. John preempts his complaining by having fresh warm towels and a snack ready.

Gord just takes them. “Fuck, you know when your life’s going to shit?”

“Can’t really say,” John says. The shine hasn’t worn off yet. This is every boy’s dream.

“Well, you know it’s going to shit when your wife kicks you out and tells you not to come back for a week.” Gord frowns. He holds out his hand, and John gives him a flask. John resolutely does not look at the line of his captain chugging down the liquid. He finishes untying his laces instead.

“You need somewhere to stay?” John asks, as he relieves himself of sweaty gear. “You can take my spare.”

Gord only gulps and nods.

 

After that, Gord has a semi-regular position on John’s couch. If he’s honest, John doesn’t think that they’re going to work it out, but he might be wrong. There are a couple of months where he doesn’t show up uninvited, but he’s used to Gord being around now, and well, it’s not like he minds.

Once, Gord even says, “You’re cute, Stevsie,” before passing out on John’s couch.

John places a blanket over his captain. He tucks Gord in. John takes a breath and buries the fluttering feeling inside his chest.


End file.
